Zutara Week '08
by Jade Sabre
Summary: a belated series of drabbles and short fics following the Zutara Week '08. All seven prompts posted.
1. denim

**Zutara Week 2008 Challenges**

**Author:** Jade Sabre

**Author's Note:** So way back in July of '08 (has it really been that long?), someone (apparently named Greenifyme) over at DeviantArt suggested that the week preceding Avatar Finale Week be dubbed Zutara Week, and that the entirety of the Zutara fandom would thus follow a series of prompts and upload a work of art (or an AMV or a fanfic, etc. etc. etc.), thus creating a joyous fandom party week for Zutara, leading up to the finale week, which many of us suspected would spell the canon doom of our ship (but hey, we still have post-canon!).

I sadly did not get myself in gear for Zutara week proper, but during the few days of Finale Week leading up to the premier of "Souther Raiders" I buckled down and came up with my contributions…which I then sat on, because my beta was in the throes of Kataang delight and I didn't want to spoil her fun. Finally, though, we have both achieved enough distance from the finale for me to get her to beta my shorts, and so here they are.

I should add that while I had seen "Boiling Rock" at the time of writing these, all of them (except for "denim") are set pre-Boiling Rock, and I wrote all of them before seeing "Southern Raiders." (Wow, that brings back spoiled-versus-non-spoiled memories, doesn't it?)

I've missed writing for Avatar; with any luck, posting these will get my muse in gear and convince me to write more.

Future author's notes will not be this long, I promise. :-)

Reviews, as always, are treasured and appreciated long after you've finished submitting them.

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**challenge 1: denim**

Katara has sailed the world and seen its wonders: sunrise at the Northern Air Temple, where the sun comes to eye level, rather than simply passing overhead; the walls of Ba Sing Sei, ultimately indestructible even when the government was not; Aang's smile, after so many weeks and months of hardship, of setbacks and failures, a sign that perhaps they might survive this intact, if not unscathed.

She has seen smaller wonders, as well, and it is one of these that comes to her mind, unbidden: standing in a backroom of a dusty Earth Kingdom shop, listening to a weaver explain the process that creates the tough, durable fabric in her hands, the only blue fabric they have available. It didn't match her clothing, and yet she couldn't stop running her hands over it, feeling the minute twill weaving, the diagonal ridges, marveling at its strength as the weaver demonstrated its resilience. The weaver had spent most of her life attempting to develop something that would withstand the mining conditions her husband endured; the one bolt that Katara held in her hands was her ultimate result, too late to save her husband from a rockslide, and offered freely to the companion of the Avatar. She refused, of course; she left it for the other miners, and kept for herself the texture, and the look in the weaver's eyes.

The dust billows in clouds around her, and the sun blazes brightly in the sky, and Ozai is defeated and the Fire Nation soldiers are in retreat and Aang is—somewhere—and Sokka is—somewhere else—and she stands in the middle of a ruined hallway in the Fire Nation palace and thinks of clothing, as if she is nothing more than one of the girls cowering in the large houses outside, a girl whose life consists only in shopping and wondering what style will be fashionable in the coming months. Her clothes are ripped and bloodstained, and a year old, and will probably not survive the boiling necessary to clean them; but she does not think of them. The incongruity of her surroundings and her memory confuses her, and for a moment she loses all sense of place and time and finds herself floundering in a sea of endless violence, rock slides and waterbending and firebending colliding in her head, and she shudders, unable to latch onto any one image in the cacophony of her mind.

A light touch against her cheek returns her to the weaver's shop—_I wanted to help him, but I was too late_—and then she is aware, instantly and completely, that she is standing in the middle of a ruined hallway in the Fire Nation palace, and that more importantly, she is standing in Zuko's arms, and he in hers, and it isn't fabric against her cheek, it's his scar, tough and soft all at once, just as she remembers it, brushing her neck as he buries his face in her shoulder and breathes her name, and she tightens her grip on him, solid and warm and resilient against her, and _alive_.


	2. electrifying

**Author: **Jade Sabre

**A/N:** This fic contains the almost obligatory Fandomme reference, which I'm sure everyone will catch. Thanks for the awesome fic, Fandomme!

This fic also introduces what I thought was a major motivation behind Katara's anger at Zuko—that is, her fear that he would betray them again, fear that she would drop her guard again and be burned, and a determination to avoid this at all costs. The show ended up not addressing this point, and instead decided to channel it all into some kind of revenge-Mommy-issue thing, which, while probably also a part of her anger, didn't quite ring completely true to me.

Oh well. That's why we have fandom: to fill in the gaps.

Thanks for all the reviews on the last chapter, and please, feel free to leave more on this one. :-)

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**challenge 2: electrifying**

"Can you teach me how to bend lightning?" Aang asked.

"What, you want to be a crazy psycho?" Toph said.

"Well, no—"

"I can explain, but—"

"Hey," the Duke said, waving his spoon in the air. "What have I said about bending talk at the dinner table?"

"He's right," Teo said. "You guys _promised_."

Everyone instinctively looked to Katara, except for Zuko, who looked down at his mushy rice, anxious to avoid accidental eye contact. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her finish taking a drink of water before saying, "We did say we wouldn't force them to listen to us."

"Then tell Sokka to stop talking about sword techniques!" Toph retorted. "And Teo can stop talking about his stupid mudpies—"

"They're not mudpies, they're clay models—"

"I still don't get why you keep getting all upset when I borrow them—"

"I spent _hours_ making that miniature Appa!"

"Oh, is that what it was? I thought it was a turtle-duck—"

"Enough!" Katara said, although Toph continued describing the alleged Appa's faults in great detail. At a look from his sister, Sokka elbowed her; she fell silent, sullenly stomping and sending a few warning pebbles at Teo's head.

"I was just wondering," Aang said, in the silence that followed, "because I thought if she can do it, maybe Ozai can do it, and if I have to face it…"

The silence grew louder, until finally Katara said, "Well?"

"Oh! Well, if I could—"

"Not you," she said, the deliberate sweetness in her voice fading as she turned from the Avatar to his firebending master. "How does he do it?"

Zuko cleared his throat and looked up, still avoiding her gaze. "I don't know." At her unsurprised sigh of annoyance, he added, "I mean, my uncle explained the theory to me, but he didn't actually show me how to do it."

"Well, that's a surprise. Can't imagine why he wouldn't trust you with that kind of—"

"I wasn't ready," he said. "Maybe I'm still not ready, but I don't know."

The other kids, sitting around the campfire with their bowls of mush (Katara insisted it was a nutritious, hearty meal, but after three days in a row it was going a little stale), exchanged nervous looks. Zuko and Katara rarely exchanged more than three sentences in a row, and even more rarely about anything other than chores. No one could quite figure out why: Teo, Haru, and the Duke assumed it was lingering resentment from the months he had spent chasing them. Aang had thought Sokka the grudge-holder would be more against the prince, not Katara the (beautiful, kind, utterly confusing) peacemaker, but instead Sokka was the one who cautiously made peace offerings, and Katara was the one nursing her ills in the corner. Sokka didn't try to understand what made his sister so angry, and had stopped suggesting she lay it to rest; only Toph noticed how underneath her angry façade, Katara's heart hammered like a rabbit every time Zuko came close to Aang.

Zuko himself didn't know this; he would never have thought that Katara would still be afraid of him. Anger he understood; disappointment, and an unwillingness to trust him; he had earned all these things, but he thought he had at least proved that he wasn't going to hurt the Avatar. And he thought she might have noticed that he was afraid of her, as well. He wouldn't be fully accepted into the group until she stopped hating him, and he knew it, and he was terrified that she would never give him that trust. Aang may have been the group's leader, the cause bringing them all together, their purpose and their drive, but Katara was the heart, and for now that heart was hardened against him, and he had to tread carefully to ensure that it didn't crush him completely.

She didn't insult him, or answer him at all; he turned to the Avatar and saw the disappointment in Aang's eyes, and said, hesitantly, "He _did_ show me a method of channeling it—" Aang's eyes lit up, and he suddenly wished he hadn't spoken "—but it's very dangerous, and your best bet when someone shoots lightning at you is still to run—"

"Can you teach it to me?"

Every time Zuko saw that expression on Aang's face, he flashed back to his ship, and his three years at sea, and his training, because he knew the expression on Aang's face was the one his face had held, just as he knew his current inner frustration was the same as his uncle's. Aang was a little more accepting of his readiness, or lack thereof, than Zuko had been at his age; but it was still very difficult to tell the kid "no" when he looked like that, let alone when he looked like that _and _was the Avatar _and _had the weight of the world on his shoulders _and_ had to bring down your father for you because you knew it wasn't your job, but you still felt guilty about it anyway.

And Zuko, not having the years of experience his uncle had, the years of watching boys take training too early, watching boys take to war like they took to training, and taking to death as a result—Zuko, being still a boy in more ways than he was a man, said, "Yes."

Aang's entire face lit up in that way that made everything worthwhile, but the man in Zuko overcame the boy that was loathe to spoil the image and said, "I can show it to you, but you can't practice it, and so you probably shouldn't use it."

"Have you ever used it?"

"Yes," he said, reluctantly, and to his surprise, Katara laughed. He cut his eyes at her, pain overriding his desire for peace—in reflection, the fact that he had bent lightning seemed incredible, both that he had been able to do it, and that he had been forced to such measures. At the time, he had operated on pure, breathless instinct—if he closed his eyes, he could still see the onrush of light—and it had been the most thrilling moment of his life; but it had also been his own father, and through his father, his Nation, and that thought was almost too much to bear.

"Show us, then," she said; irked, he set down his bowl and stood up, away from the fire, backlit by the stars.

He closed his eyes for a moment, straining all his memory to his uncle's words and gestures, and then opened them, and assumed the proper stance. "You take the lightning in—here," he said, pointing and drawing the line across himself as he spoke, "and channel it down through your stomach—and it _has_ to be your stomach, otherwise it'll go to your heart and kill you faster than just getting hit would—and then out the other side."

He dropped his hands and stood normally (though it didn't quite count as normal—he wasn't entirely aware of his eerily erect posture, as compared to Haru or Sokka, as compared to a normal teenage boy), his cheeks heating as everyone stared at him.

"That's it?" the Duke said. "That was boring. Where was the lightning?"

"You only use it when someone's shooting lightning _at_ you," Zuko said.

"Well, why not—"

"Because it's incredibly dangerous! You should hope no one ever shoots it at you."

"Why did someone shoot at you?"

"Because his sister does things like that for fun," Sokka said. "I thought Katara was bad until we met Azula."

Zuko met his gaze with silent thanks, which Sokka acknowledged with a slight nod. Aang's eyes narrowed as he thought. "That didn't look like a typical firebending form."

"It's not," he said, looking at the Avatar as steadily as he was not looking at Katara. "My uncle devised it himself, based on waterbending forms."

"Do it again," the requisite waterbender demanded, and he complied, performing it more like an actual technique than a demonstration, and she said, "Is it this one?"

To his utter surprise, she got up and stood next to him, facing the others, before mimicking his gestures. She brought up a line of water from her cup, and did it again, her face frowning as she attempted to recreate the sort of form that would have inspired his uncle. He watched her for a moment, trying his best not to stare, trying his best to see her simply as a bender, and not as the person on whom his future depended, not as a fighter whose spirit, strength, and grace he found more and more admirable as the days passed, not as an opponent whose weaknesses needed to be measured, but rather as a fellow trainer.

He was so busy concentrating on _not_ noticing her that he failed to notice the next words that came out of his mouth: "You're doing it wrong."

The Duke knocked over his bowl of mush in his haste to back away; the others' reactions were more contained, but no less surprised. He forced himself to stand his ground as she raised her eyes from the water to his face, and so he was able to read her expression more openly than he'd dared in days. He saw that she had stood up to prove that she was the better bender, that she could perform the technique better because it was _her_ people's technique, to keep him in his place. Yet he didn't feel any urge to apologize to her; she _was_ doing it wrong, and if she wanted to get better, she had to acknowledge that. And maybe, just maybe, if she'd learn from him, she might consider listening to him.

She stared back at him, and he wondered what she saw in his face; and finally she said, "Fine. What am I doing wrong?"

"You _guys_," the Duke whined, but Teo shushed him as Zuko considered how to phrase it. "First of all, you're not going all the way down to your stomach." He traced the path he had seen her water flowing, and then he traced the path it should have taken. "You have to channel your chi all the way down. And secondly, it's not just a move you perform. It's defensive. I mean, you can channel it back to your attacker, but you have to be attacked, first."

Without moving her gaze from him, she said, "Aang. Throw a water whip at me."

Aang didn't move. Zuko sighed and said, "Aang, do it."

The boy stood up, summoned his water from his cup, and whipped it towards Katara, fast, but not as fast as lightning. She caught it and shot it out straight, one arm to the other, before bringing it back in front of her and casually shooting half of it back to him. Her eyes followed it as it flowed, then turned back to Zuko, waiting for judgment.

He shook his head. "You're not going _down_ enough. Like—put the water down."

Her eyes—changed—and for a moment he was afraid she would lash out at him, like some kind of cornered animal, a reaction that came to mind involuntarily, rather than based on what he expected her to do, and he froze. Then she relaxed and the water fell with a _splat_ to the ground, and he and the others breathed again. "Now," he said, facing her, "follow my lead."

To his surprise, she did, turning towards him with the same frown of concentration. First he traced the path, step by step, stopping at each point—fingertip, shoulder, stomach, shoulder, fingertip—and waiting for her to catch up to him, paying particular to the line she followed. He increased speed in increments, making sure at each level that she didn't try any shortcuts, that the path—fingertip, stomach, fingertip—stayed the same, and she never faltered as they inched their way towards the actual speed of the form.

"Hey," Sokka said, "this isn't another dance of yours, is it?"

Zuko cut his eyes at him—the warrior still thought the Rainbow Fire Dragon Dance was the funniest performance he'd seen in his life—and then returned his eyes to his pupil, only to find her steadily staring at him. Their gazes locked; a course of intensity thrilled through him, and then they both _moved_, in tandem, her with her water and him with his fire, fingertip-stomach-fingertip, sending their elements into a collision above the canyon, a puff of steam soon enveloped by the surrounding fog. Power thrummed along his inner pathway, and he thought, in that moment, he could bend a storm.

And then she looked away from him, closing her stance and inclining her head in a perfunctory bow, which he quickly returned. She glanced away, and he looked and saw the others, staring at them, and wondered what they saw.

"I'm going to bed," she announced, stomping off without further explanation; Zuko, for his part, silently returned to his seat, picking up his bowl of mush, spooning up some of it.

"So that's what you do," he said, holding the spoon before his mouth, not really wanting to eat it but not wanting to have to talk, either. "But you probably shouldn't try it. Your best bet is still dodging."

"Yeah," Aang said, something foreign in his voice as he looked towards the hall Katara had taken. "Thanks."

Zuko nodded and shoveled stale mush in his mouth and tried not to remember the spark in her eyes, not to hope that maybe, just maybe she was sitting in her room, wondering if perhaps she had misjudged him after all.


	3. smug

**Author:** Jade Sabre

**A/N:** Sokka is my favorite character. Also he is a pimp. Also he is a sexy, sexy beast. Just though I'd mention that.

Also, the relation of this drabble to the prompt is...tenuous, at best, and I am aware of that. But this is what happened when I sat down to respond to the challenge, and that's the whole point, right?

Thanks so much for all of the reviews! They've been wonderful! And, of course, it would be wonderful to have more.

**Disclaimer (for all chapters):** By the way, I don't own Avatar.

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**challenge 3: smug**

"So," Sokka said, plopping down next to his sister.

Katara, poring over what appeared to be the old waterbending scroll that had caused them so much trouble, way back when, didn't answer. This hardly fazed her older brother, who had inherited the ability to talk to a brick wall when trying to sound out a battle plan. Or when trying to decide which bag would best complement his outfit for the day.

Still, he needed to talk to his baby sister. Again. But this time, he was sure the talk would go perfectly. "What're you looking at this for?"

"No reason," Katara said, which made him suspect there was a reason and made the tiny part of him that had insight into his sister's mind suspect that reason involved dredging up bad blood.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Don't you have training to be doing or something?"

"Nah," he said, leaning back on his hands, assuming a casual position to throw her off guard. "Actually, I wanted to talk about Zuko."

He watched her shoulders stiffen and stifled a sigh. "What about him?" she said, gritting the words out through her teeth.

"You were wrong about him, that's what," he said, receiving a faceful of hair as she whipped her head around to stare at him. "Bleh. Can't you put this back in a braid?"

"I'm almost fifteen," she said, as if that settled everything, and vaguely he thought it might, but his understanding of Water Tribe women's customs was underdeveloped at best. He thought about telling her how much she looked like Mom, but changed his mind as her expression settled into a glare. Somehow, he didn't think she would take the fact that she looked like Mom after Mom had caught him pulling limbs off her dolls as a compliment.

"Oh, _fifteen_," he said. "It's not all that great."

"It's going to be amazing," she said. "The war will be over."

The look of wavering hope in her eyes invoked his protective instinct; wordlessly he straightened and put an arm around her, and she leaned against him, and for a moment it was almost like—well, at home they hadn't ever really been like this, because she was always busy being Mom and he was always busy training, but it was still nice, because she was still his little sister and even if she was a huge powerful bender who could take down half an army, he was the only brother she had to lean on.

"Yeah," he said, and then, unwilling to break the moment but aware that it had to be said, "And you know why?"

"Because Aang will—"

"Because Zuko's teaching Aang firebending."

She immediately pushed him away, glaring again. He held his hands open, wide, a don't-blame-the-messenger stance. "You've seen him doing it. He's been here a week, and he hasn't done anything wrong. He's done everything we asked. He even did _laundry_ when you told him to."

"He didn't fold your socks right."

Sokka blinked. "There's a right way to fold—never mind that! Don't distract me!" She folded her arms and turned away from him. "Look, Katara, I'm not saying you have to like him—although he's not that bad—but you have _got_ to give him a break."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe I'm talking about the fact that he's scared to death of you."

She tilted her head, and he could hear blatant curiosity in her voice as she said, "Scared? Of me?"

"Yeah. And not in a wow, she's a powerful bender way, but a holy spirits that girl is going to _kill_ me way." He shuddered. "And no guy likes feeling that way in the first place—"

"Why? Afraid of getting beat up by some little _girl_?"

"—but when it's because you literally look like you're going to kill him every time he so much as _breathes_—"

"I do not!"

"Yes, you do!"

"Do _not_!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do—_stop distracting me_! Katara," he said, assuming his best Dad voice, "you may not be trying to do it, but you are doing it, and you need to stop. It's driving everyone crazy."

"Worse than the mothering thing?"

"Oh yes," he said, because he didn't really think the mothering thing was all that bad. "Way worse."

"Oh," she said, and her voice sounded small, suddenly, small and angry, and she said, "I can't _help_ it, Sokka, not after what he did."

"Katara, I know what he did, same as you. _Aang _got lightninged in the back because of what he did, and yet _he's _all right—I think he even _likes _the guy—"

"That's not what I'm talking about."

"What _are_ you talking about?"

She sighed, and pulled up her knees, wrapping her arms around them. With one hand, she poked at the scroll on the ground, morosely tracing the characters inked into the parchment. Sokka held his breath, wondering if—

"Mom," she said finally. "And the necklace."

He snatched the parchment away, rolling it up. "He's already apologized for that. Besides, he didn't _steal _it, he found it, which means you _dropped_—"

"That's not what I meant!" she snapped, and suddenly she stood, grabbing the scroll back from him. "Just forget it."

"Katara—"

"Forget it!" With that she stomped away in a manner eerily reminiscent of Toph, sans the earth-shattering steps. Sokka sighed and shook his head, and went in search of the earthbender. He needed a brick wall. He needed a plan.


	4. manipulative

**Author:** Jade Sabre

**A/N:** And we're back on track with the prompts, I think.

Thanks so much for all of the reviews!

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**challenge 4: manipulative**

He'd always been able to use words to his advantage. Even as she would never, ever, _ever_ surrender Aang to him, she can't deny that underneath her fear and her anger and her shock, she listens to his words—_perhaps in exchange, I can restore something you've lost_—with something akin to wonder. What makes his ability all the more remarkable is the sense of juxtaposition she feels whenever he opened his mouth: she never knows if he is about to sweep her off her feet—_that's something we have in common, then_—or leave her flabbergasted with the depths of his stupidity.

While she hates living with him, hates every single aspect except perhaps the easy firestarting chores, hates everything about him and wants nothing to do with him at all, she can't help listening to him speak. And even though she tells herself she's ignoring the words, she can't help but notice that he's particularly eloquent whenever he's trying to tell the truth—the truth about _himself_. His eloquence masks—or perhaps presents—a deep vulnerability, a complete and utter revelation of self, banking solely on the hope that his listeners will hear his words, and believe. And while she spends a lot of energy pretending not to notice anything about him, and even more energy trying to keep the group's spirits up, she still has a little tiny corner in her mind to call her own, and in this corner she spends quiet moments reviewing everything he has ever said to her, slowly piecing together a picture of the prince she hates.

It's her own private hobby, and she finds herself insatiably eager to listen to him, finds herself eavesdropping at corners and doing chores to the side while everyone else relaxes—and truthfully, it is hard for everyone else to relax when she is near him. She hears him telling stories to the Duke, and describing battles to Toph, even trading jokes with Sokka (the traitor); and then he speaks to her, and his voice is tight and hesitant and she wishes they were openly enemies again, if only to hear him persuade her again.

And somewhere in all this wishing and puzzling she realizes she doesn't hate him, not anymore, can't hope to hate him, because his eloquence here, in this little family she has sweated blood to hold together, surpasses all her memories combined. This realization makes her bitter, because he doesn't deserve—because he _does _deserve, but he shouldn't, _something_ in this world should remain black-and-white, and confusion is no excuse for nearly getting Aang killed, and so her resentment towards him grows in equal parts with her admiration, and he stops speaking to her entirely, afraid of the shadowed anger in her eyes.

She sits on the edge of the ledge, her legs swinging over nothing, sending her anger to the skies in a rare quiet moment. The stars, shining above, give no answer, although the half-full moon gently chastises her, and she lowers her eyes to her knees and leans back on her palms and wages the futile battle to keep her thoughts from the stories she has heard.

He sits next to her, and at first she wants to do—something—anything to convince him to go away, but she is tired and furthermore determined not to let anything distract her from this precious silence, even if the solitude is gone. She cannot collect her thoughts—they all, embarrassingly enough, center around _him_, and she can hardly think about him when he's sitting right there. She works her face into a glare, hardly a difficult feat, aside from the minute details of displeasure she adds into it, and prepares to deliver it, full-force, when suddenly he says, "Katara."

There is no hint of a question in his voice, no uncertainty, just her name, quiet, a little raspy, and suddenly she is boneless, capable of sliding right over the edge like rain, because she knows she is fire in his hands and she would rather fall off the cliff than have him realize it.

"What?" she snaps, but her voice isn't right, and there's too much of a question and not enough anger.

He lets the silence linger, perhaps from his own lingering fear, but it is enough; her resentment boils over and turns to steam, rising into the air, dissipating, and instead of a righteous waterbender and a traitor they are a girl and a boy, sitting next to each other on a ledge, stargazing, and the moon is watching, and waiting.

"I'm sorry you hate me," he says finally, and as his voice descends into a whisper, "I wish you wouldn't."

She never thought she'd be able to break her own heart, but she has, here, tonight; and she reaches over, and places her hand on top of his, ignoring his look of utter surprise (so different, so slow compared to the way his fingers instinctively lace with hers) because it's his fault, even if it was unintentional. "I don't," she says, and then whispering, almost to herself, the surrender: "I don't."


	5. mythology

**Author:** Jade Sabre

**A/N:** Thanks so much for all the reviews on the last chapter. Hope y'all enjoy this one! More reviews are always welcome.

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**challenge 5: mythology**

_From the Deleted Scenes of Avatar: The Last Airbender_

(SCENE: _At the Western Air Temple, the GAANG has decided to drag their sleeping bags onto one of the ledges in order to observe the nighttime sky. They are all arranged in varying states of rest: lying on their backs, sitting up with their legs drawn in, etc. ZUKO has begun a lecture on Fire Nation constellations._)

ZUKO (_pointing_): …and that one's the warrior Ba-lai, who slew seven dragons when they threatened his home village, and that's Aima, who healed his wounds, and then those four in a square over there are Ton, his faithful ostrich horse…

TOPH (_picking between her toes_): This sure would be more interesting if I could see what you were pointing at.

AANG: You sure do have a lot of stories.

ZUKO: It's just history. We know all our stories, and hopefully learn from them…or something like that. (_more to himself_) Uncle was always telling stories.

THE DUKE (_a little anxiously_): Do you think they'll tell stories about us, one day?

HARU (_still watching the sky_): You know they will.

THE DUKE: Will I be in them?

ZUKO: We'll make sure you are.

KATARA (_dreamily_): I wonder how they'll tell them. Stirring ballad, maybe?

SOKKA (_gesturing with his boomerang_): I was thinking a stirring war chant, myself.

TEO: What about the romance? All stories have a romance.

TOPH (_still picking at the toe stuff_): It could be Sokka. He's the only one—

SOKKA (_almost sharply_): No, my stories aren't any good. Nobody wants to read a sad love story.

AANG: Yours aren't sad!

KATARA: Sure people do. Oma and Shu had a really sad love story, and people still tell that one today.

TEO: Who're Oma and Shu?

AANG (_singing_): _Two lovers…forbidden from one another…_

SOKKA: Aang, really—

AANG: _SECRET TUNNEL_!

KATARA: _SECRET TUNNEL_!

SOKKA (_waving his boomerang around_): Both of you! Stop! No more singing!

AANG (_quietly_): …_and die_.

TEO: Wow. That sounds like a really romantic story.

(SOKKA _facepalms with an audible smack_.)

AANG (_smiling at _KATARA_, who looks around and tucks her hair self-consciously behind her ear_): It is. They let love guide their way.

HARU: Two lovers from opposing villages, huh? Well…I guess that could be Zuko and Toph—

TOPH: Yeah _right_. More like Zuko and Katara, I'd say.

(THE GAANG _greets this proclamation with silence_.)

TEO (_anxiously_): Um…

AANG (_jumping to his feet, vehemently_): No. No no no. A big no.

KATARA (_in a voice pinched with anger, also on her feet_): Are you out of your—

SOKKA (_with obligatory boomerang gesticulation_): Hey, now, that's my sister you're talking about there!

KATARA (_struggling to formulate words_): —_mind_, how _dare_ you even—

TOPH (_innocently_): It was just a suggestion.

KATARA (_raging in the background_): —_suggest_, I would rather—

ZUKO (_having watched this with an awkward expression, sounding pained_): …do you really have to make it sound so bad?

KATARA: —kiss Momo—

ZUKO (_flatly_): That could be arranged.

KATARA: —than—_what_?

ZUKO (_glaring_): What? You could use a good kiss.

KATARA (_full of righteous rage, a word containing in it a world of pain culminating in death_): …You.

(THE GAANG, _minus_ KATARA _and _ZUKO, _watch the ensuing action._)

THE DUKE: …wow. I didn't know Zuko could run so fast.

SOKKA: Yeah, he—oh, that's not going to be good.

AANG (_hesitantly_): Um, Katara? He does still have to be able—

KATARA (_off-stage_): He doesn't need his KNEES to teach you!

AANG: —actually, yes, he…oh. Oh, my. _(with fear and resignation_)Um…maybe…not?

(_Fade to black._)


	6. stare

**Author: **Jade Sabre

**A/N:** This is one very, very long-overdue update, but my computer hard drive crashed mid-March and between trying to gather all my files from various sources and pass this semester's classes, I haven't had time to update. I did find both this chapter and the last one, though, so here you go! Disclaimer, notes about when this was written, etc. etc. etc., all still stand.

* * *

**challenge 6: stare**

_Toph_

"Hey, Sparky. Any reason you're lurking behind a column?"

Zuko jumped, and the blind earthbender could feel the equal jump in his heart rate. Grinning, she leaned against said column and continued, "I mean, I thought you were done lurking behind things."

"I'm not lurking," he protested, _lying_, she thought, but she could sense the urgency coming off him, and the fear. He kept his voice low, as if he didn't want to be caught; and as she felt the farther vibrations of Aang and Katara sparring, and the rest of the boys laughing at a joke, she wondered if he was just being shy.

In a rare moment of kindness, she said, "You know you don't have to anymore, right?"

"It's not that," he said, and then she heard a smack, presumably of his palm meeting his forehead.

"It's not?" she asked, puzzled, trying to piece together the clues in her mind. Zuko, lurking behind a pillar. The others elsewhere, the boys joking around near the campfire circle, Aang and Katara sparring near the fountain, Zuko's nervous, accelerated heartbeat…lurking…

She wasn't very familiar with long-distance physical attraction; it's not like she could _see _what made Sokka so attractive against her will, it was more his voice and the fact that she was so very _aware_ of where he was at all times, and when he was nearby she could soak up his warmth and his boy smell (but it was only a little crush). Still, she had heard Haru and Teo talking about Katara's waterbending outfit (a conversation quickly followed by their pleas for her silence), and suddenly Zuko's heartbeat wasn't nervous, it was…

Her first instinct of empathetic pity quickly disappeared in favor of sitting down and laughing, which she did, doubled-over, pointing at him when she choked on her words. Zuko groaned with frustration, and as her laughter subsided, he said, "I'll do your share of the dishes for a week."

"Done," she said, and that was the last thing she said on the subject. Out loud, at least.

_  
Sokka_

"Hey, Zuko, can I talk to you a minute?"

Zuko paused in the middle of his exercise—Aang was off with the earthbenders, and so he was training on his own—and let his arms drop to his sides. Sokka sat on a rock, idly tapping his boomerang against it as he leaned back on his hands and assumed an utterly non-threatening position. Which of course meant something was up.

"Sure," the exiled prince said, dropping onto the rock next to Sokka. It was shorter than Sokka's rock, which gave the Water Tribe warrior a height advantage he suddenly regretted as Sokka said, "It's about Katara."

"What about her?" He almost added _did she promise to kill me again?_ but he had no indication that the others knew about the aforementioned threat and didn't want to cause extra strife because of it. The group was finally starting to accept him, aside from Katara, and he was cautiously allowing himself hope that perhaps one day they might all accept him.

"There were a lot of boys in the village, before they all went off to war," Sokka said. "Katara was only twelve, of course, and very busy taking care of all of us with the other women."

"Uh-huh," Zuko said.

"Yeah, she was a cute kid back then. Cuter than Aang, if you can believe it. So idealistic! So…_naïve_."

Not liking this conversation one bit, thinking to himself _she hasn't changed all that much_,Zuko said, "Oh."

"Yeah," Sokka said, nodding thoughtfully. "See, back then she didn't notice the boys watching her. Dad was still around to keep them away, but…you see how now, Dad's not here, and Katara's old enough to start noticing. And she's really a pretty girl, you know. I couldn't be prouder of her, really."

_Damn_. "Oh?"

"Yeah. So, she'd kill me if she knew I was talking to you about this," _you and me both_, Zuko thought, "but…" Sokka used his height to loom over the exiled prince, who shrank away accordingly. "If I catch you staring at my baby sister, even just a _hint_, I. Will. Kill You."

"Are death threats common in your culture?" He spoke without meaning to, and almost saved both the Water Tribe siblings the trouble by throwing himself over the edge right then and there.

"No," Sokka said, apparently unfazed. "We never make them unless we're very, very serious about it. Because, you see, a Water Tribe man never breaks his word."

His face was uncomfortably close to Zuko's, eyes half-joking, half-deadly-serious, his boomerang still idly tapping against the rock, a _ting ting ting_ rhythm in the deafening silence between their voices.

"Right," Zuko said finally, not moving a muscle. "I'll…keep that in mind, then."

"Good man," Sokka said, leaning back and stretching. Zuko's eyes couldn't help following the boomerang, watching the sunlight glint off it; Sokka noticed as he stood up, and he tapped it with his finger. "Just remember. The boomerang will always find you. Always."

And with that he left Zuko alone on his rock, sweating in the morning sun.

_  
Aang_

Aang never said anything about Zuko's nervous, covert stares across the fire pit, or during their sparring rounds, or even while washing dishes. Normally this was because he was too busy watching Katara himself to see if anyone else took notice of her beautiful skin and smile and laugh and eyes and soul, but sometimes he did catch Zuko with an odd look on his face, one that was both a little familiar and a little unsettling. He couldn't figure out _why_ he felt this way, because it was Zuko and Katara, who barely spoke and occasionally sparred with an intensity that belied the training ruse they used as an excuse. He didn't have a single clue, because it never occurred to him to think that a prince would see anything in a waterbender, much less that the strangely angry waterbender would acknowledge a firebender. He was happy enough that they hadn't killed each other; his next step was getting Katara to acknowledge _something_ had happened between them, at the very least an action, and so he concentrated his energies on catching her alone.

He wasn't very successful, however; after hours of training every day, and of playing around with the others, he had very little time or energy to devote to romance, and the adrenaline rush he got around Katara was matched by a knee-weakening fear that she would dismiss him. Not out of hatred, or apathy, but because there were bigger issues, like the fate of the world and his final battle with Ozai. She was so mature. She would want him to focus on that stuff.

Still, he would look up and see Zuko looking, and wonder what made the firebender so pensive. He had often thought about asking Zuko for advice—someone had mentioned something about him having a girlfriend, or something—but then he would see that _look_ on Zuko's face, and he'd change his mind, for reasons he couldn't explain. He was just a boy who wanted the girl of his dreams to remember to acknowledge the fact that he wasn't just a friend or a student or the Avatar, but a _boy_. But because he was all those other things, he had to push his feelings—love, unease, and everything in between—aside, and focus on the important stuff.

Because that was what _she _wanted, too.


	7. pinch

**Author: **Jade Sabre

**A/N:** …is it July already? Wow, sorry about that, y'all.

Anyway, here's the last prompt. It started out as another segment of "stare" and then was too long and so I made it its own. It's not my favorite out of all of these (that would probably be "manipulative") because it feels a little sell-out-y, but it was fun and I hope y'all enjoy it.

Thanks for all the reviews! Hopefully my Avatar muse will creep back out from hibernation soon.

* * *

**pinch**

Katara knew.

Katara often thought she had the most on her plate after Aang, although on her more selfish days she thought she had _more_ than him, because _he _was on her plate as well whereas he just had to concentrate on Ozai and the fate of the world. Still, she had a million things to be doing—they all did, even if they didn't have as much as her—and she kept getting distracted because that thrice-damned (once with a necklace, once in an oasis, once through a lie) prince was watching her. Oh, not all the time, and he was subtle enough about it, but she had unconsciously trained her body to a state of hyperawareness where he was concerned and so she _knew_.

She often lay awake at night, and thought about what she might say to him to make him stop. The looks were never quite the same, but there was an undercurrent of longing, sometimes physical, more often emotional, that made her feel…_guilty_. And there were few things she hated more than feeling guilty for a crime she did not commit. So she was a little harsh on the guy. So what? So he didn't deserve it? Ha. Any day now he might change his mind, and she had to be ready; until that day passed he was still in a state of potentiality, and she had to be on guard against that potential. Addressing the problem would mean acknowledging it, and frankly she didn't think he deserved that much.

Still, one afternoon, she caught him red-handed, the only other person on the particular level of the Air Temple in which she had chosen to practice. She faced him with her octopus arms flailing around her, and said, "What do I need to do to get you to stop?"

He stayed his distance; his voice carried, quiet but intense, and he said, "Forgive me."

"For what? Stalking me?"

He hesitated. "That's not what I mean to—"

"Well that's what you're doing. You realized that, don't you? Staring at me all the time like—"

"Katara, _please_—"

"Look, do whatever you need to do to get it out of your system. Kiss me, if that'll help you get over your crazy—"

"Is that what you think I want?" he demanded, stepping closer and nimbly dodging when she lashed out with a water-arm.

"Why else would you be staring?"

"I just want to know what will convince you to stop hating me. That's all."

"Well, you can't kiss me and make it better."

"I don't want to!"

"Are you saying you don't want to kiss me?"

"You're the one who started talking about kissing. It wasn't me."

She harrumphed and crossed her arms, letting the water fall to the ground, splashing her feet. She could see him more clearly, now, his expression open and pleading and just a little bit haughty, too, ready to fight her if he had to in order to get what he wanted. "Don't tell me you weren't thinking about it."

"That's not why I've been—"

"Stalking me?"

"Katara," he said, pinching his nose in a gesture she knew was new to this "reformed" Zuko, "can we at least be a little bit mature about this?"

"I don't know, _Zuko_," she said, mocking his name. "Can you manage that?"

"I'm not the one acting like a child."

Ah, some backbone at last. She'd been afraid that this spineless Zuko was really just a sham, and now she was right. "Are you calling me a child?"

He paused, clearly wrestling with his answer, and then he lifted his chin and said, "Yes."

"So you're admitting to stalking a child."

"I'm not stalking you, I just wanted to get you alone so I could _talk _to you—"

That, frankly, was all the evidence she needed; she called up the water from the ground, forming two long whips that lashed out in a classic pincer motion, designed to corner him against the wall. It worked (whether or not he intentionally stayed still was beside the point), and she wrapped the water around him, holding him still as she stepped forward, enjoying her moment of triumph. She leaned in close, planning to laugh directly in his face—

—when he broke free of the whips, grabbed her arms, and twisted her around until _she _was the one pinched between him and the wall, and he was leaning into _her_ face. She stared at him, defiantly, already planning what she would say to Aang (finally, the excuse she needed to get permission to watch him at all times), and she could see her defiance reflected in his eyes as he studied her face. Then he smiled, suddenly, and it didn't make any sense, so she glowered at him.

"You're impossible," he said, "and I should just stop trying, shouldn't I?"

"Exactly," she said.

"Right," he said, nodding, and then his grip on her arms tightened, and he _looked_ at her, and said, "Katara, I'm not going to stop."

She didn't respond immediately, searching his face for the trace of duplicity she knew hid there. It was scary when he was sincere, because it reminded her of Ba Sing Se and she _remembered_ how easy it had been to trust him them because it was equally easy now except for the fear, and she didn't—

He kissed her.

She kissed back, instinctively, because her entire mind had gone blank with shock, and so of course her instincts kicked in, kissing and examining the kiss and determining that it really wasn't that bad of a kiss—and then her brain kicked back in and she pulled her face back, banging it painfully on the wall behind her.

Her mouth moved, and she could barely see his face past the rage coloring her vision, and her voice found itself in a question: "_What_?"

He hesitated again, and finally said, "I just…wondered."

She moved her mouth soundlessly again, shame and embarrassment and—_longing_? dear spirits please no—memories of another kiss she hadn't exactly addressed and oh dear spirits _embarrassment_ overwhelming her; she wasn't angry, suddenly, because part of her realized she'd been wondering the same thing, and her curiosity, now satiated, settled itself contentedly in the back of her mind. Blushing, and aware she was blushing, she tried to snap, "Oh, and that makes it okay?" but it came out more like a squeak.

He released her and took five steps back, and bowed deeply. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"It better not," she said, and then she laughed, and she saw him glance up with just the slightest expression of hope. She wanted to make him work a little harder—and she would, oh she would—but just like that, she wasn't afraid. She didn't know if it was the kiss, or realizing that when he had turned himself over to them he really had turned himself over, and that she really did hold him in the palm of her hand, that he was willing to place that much of himself under her control, but…she wasn't afraid. And the freedom from that fear—from the watching and the waiting and the worrying—made her want to skip and sing like a little girl.

She didn't, of course; she merely bowed in return, not as deeply, and he straightened, his face redder than hers felt, if that were possible. "I'll…just be going now."

"That sounds like a good idea," she agreed, grinning after him as he beat a fast retreat. Her hands absentmindedly rubbed her arms where he had gripped them; and then she whipped up the water again, content to express her happiness, if not in skips and songs, in bending for peace, at least for now.


End file.
